Family Made Fullmetal
by 1221bookworm
Summary: A few brief glimpses into the growth of a family made fullmetal - or Izumi's thoughts on what makes a family.


_**A/N: Here is my contribution to the Moms Made Fullmetal 2018 celebration day seven prompt "Family". I apologize in advance for the sad beginning, but hope the cuteness of the end makes up for it.**_

 _ **A/N 2: I don't own Fullmetal or any of its characters. If I did, I'd probably try to protect them from all their pain. And then they wouldn't have a heart made fullmetal.**_

The doctors had told her it may be difficult. Her petite frame was just not meant to carry the offspring of a man the size of Sig. She'd refused to believe them. Her strength of will would overcome the physical difficulties. She'd survived a month in the Brigg's Mountain after all - how difficult could it be to carry a child?

Now, she wept at her arrogance. Her child, the one she and Sig had planned for so long, had barely lived long enough to know that love. But she felt it. And the cold emptiness where that love rattled around the hollowness of her heart instead of streaming out to the child she had barely gotten to hold.

Neighbors had brought food, of course. There were enough casseroles to keep them both well fed for a month. That was a good thing, as she barely had the strength to get out of bed. The doctors prescribed pills - ones to take away her physical pain, others to take her mind off her troubles. None of them had been effective.

She'd forced Sig to open up today. No one blamed them for being closed, but she couldn't deny Sig his income even as she destroyed his hopes for future children.

"Izumi." Sig's quiet voice broke through her fractured thoughts.

"What are you doing home?" Light still shine around the drawn curtains, so it couldn't be the end of the day.

"It's time for lunch." He placed a tray in front of her; a plate took up most of it, filled with some casserole or other, and bordered by an assortment of pills.

"I'm not hungry." It wasn't some grand gesture if defeat; it was simple truth. She had done nothing but sit in her bed all morning, her body didn't need the additional nourishment.

Sig wouldn't be put off. "Just a few bites Izumi. Then your pills."

She played with it more than she ate. At least it satisfied his concern as he sat next to her with his own plate. When it was clear she would eat no more, he cleared away the dishes. He came back with his coat in hand. "Try to get some sleep. I'll be home as soon as I can."

She nodded acknowledgment to his words. He crouched down next to her. "There's always adoption."

Her breath hitched. Her feelings were to raw to accept his attempt at comfort.

She turned her face away. "I'm a failure, who would allow me to care for a child?"

He didn't argue. Just reassured her he loved her and would be home soon. She held her breath until the door closed behind him. She knew he meant well, but it was too soon.

Sleep wouldn't come, so eventually, she gave up trying, rooting around on the nightstand for anything to distract her. Underneath she found an alchemical journal she had dropped there and forgotten. She flipped through it, too foggy to attempt to interpret its symbols.

The distraction worked, and her head slowly dropped towards her chest as the book slid from her grasp.

The solid _thump_ as it hit the floor startled her back awake. Looking down at it, she received a second shock. That book had all the answers. Why hadn't she seen it sooner? She'd survived the Brigg's Mountain before learning a single ounce of alchemy. How much more powerful could she be with the very nature of creation at her fingertips?

Pushing back the pain, she retrieved the book, her tired mind suddenly honed to a sharp edge as she hungrily searched for the exact transmutation circles she'd need to show her child just how much they were loved.

When Sig got home that night, she'd worked herself into an exhausted sleep. She didn't see his slight smile as he adjusted the blankets around her. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks, and she had a peaceful look about her. His own sadness eased a little. Maybe he had managed to help her just a little bit with his words this afternoon. He was humming softly to himself as he stood. Maybe he wouldn't dismantle the nursery just yet.

"They're too young to be apprentices. We should send them back to their mother." She quietly closed the door to the spare bedroom where the two brothers who had insisted on becoming her apprentices had fallen asleep on a pile of blankets.

Sig wrapped his arms around her before responding. "They don't have a mother. She died a while back."

She looked up at him in shock. "How do you know?"

"It's amazing what you can learn over a hot bowl of chili."

She shook her head. Her husband thought food was the answer to everything. "I didn't know." She opened the door a crack to peak back in at their sleeping faces.

"We have the space," Sig offered tentatively.

She stiffened. They'd talked about adopting children. She couldn't deny she'd looked forward to the prospect, but her health had spiraled to such a point that she couldn't put the extra responsibility on Sig to care for her infirmity and take care of a baby. But maybe these two were just old enough to behave.

"We'll see how they handle the first lesson of alchemy." She closed the door again, careful to keep the latch quiet.

Sig started. "You're going to send them to Briggs?"

She laughed. "No, somehow I don't think that would be fair to them." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I'll have to do some research." She looked back up at her husband. "If they survive the next month, it looks like we'll be having some permanent house guests."

Sig gave her a gentle squeeze. "I'll use that month to get ready."

Shaking her head, she peaked back into the room one more time. It was sort of like having a child all over again - the suspense and waiting would be too much for her, she was sure.

Ed and Al sat across the table, shoveling food into their faces. She smiled. It was good to see Al's body again. Sig insisted he was still too thin, and had piled his plate with double servings of everything.

"I'm proud of you boys." She hadn't meant to say it out loud. But the feeling had just swelled inside her until it burst out.

Two forks clattered to their plates. Ed was the first to find his voice. "Who are you and what have you done to Teacher?"

Sig chortled.

"Don't expect such high praise again, Edward." She tried to fill her voice with as much authority as possible, but she didn't think she was succeeding.

Al piped up in his always respectful manner. "You honor us with your praise, Teacher."

She shook her head. "You boys don't have to call me 'teacher' anymore."

"But ..." Two jaws nearly hit the table again.

"I hope you boys will think of this as a second home, and stop by whenever you're in the area. And for goodness sake, call every once in a while." She stood, clearing the dishes off the table before retreating into the kitchen. She didn't hear the soft footsteps behind her until Al wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

"We'll call and write and stop by more now. I promise." He ended awkwardly, used to calling her teacher and unsure how to address her now.

She turned to return the hug, spotting Ed leaning against the door frame. Quietly, she opened one arm for him to come over. He did, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Good. Because you're both rusty." She gave them a gentle, good-natured shove away from herself. "Get outside and start practicing. And watch out, because you won't even see me coming."

With playful jeers, the boys ran out, barreling past Sig as he carried in the last of the dishes.

"They're not boys anymore, are they?" She asked, pushing aside a corner of the curtain to watch as they circled each other and began sparring.

Sig put his arms around her, resting his head on hers to watch them too. "I think they are. Always will be, too."

"The children we never had." Bitterness crept into her voice.

She felt Sig shake his head. "The children who needed us when they had no mother. And the mother who needed them when she had no children."

She wiped at the tears in her eyes. Sig was right. "Then they better give me grandchildren," she threatened as she tied an apron on and started washing the dishes. "I want to start spoiling someone instead of disciplining them."

Sig laughed. "You'd be the only grandmother in town teaching them how to fight off grizzly bears."

"A very useful skill."

"The neighbors will wonder about such a crazy family."

She shrugged. "Let them. This family was forged by love. And knocks on the head. Just what does he think he's doing?" She pulled the apron off, throwing it against the counter. "Will they never learn?"

"Some things never change."

 _ **Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!**_


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